


Until Iniquity Was Found

by heartstone



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Random & Short, Rating May Change, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 17:58:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17647241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartstone/pseuds/heartstone
Summary: A collection of short works centered around Arda's two Dark Lords.***





	1. A Collection of Many Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Thou wast perfect in all thy ways from the day that thou wast created, until iniquity was found in thee."  
> Ezekiel 28:15.  
> ***
> 
> Mairon leaves Aulë a letter.  
> ***

To Aulë,

 

You will find the smithy absent this late evening, and you will find it strange that I have not taken every moment to craft. Needing of my abilities for some errand or some novel design you likely have arrived at my old chambers in further search, where instead you have found this note. Well, Aulë, I have written simply to save you time: cease looking, for I will not return.

 

I am sure you have taken notice that I have not been addressing you properly as one of the Valar- as “Lord” or “Master.” Such impudence on my part is not born of hostility to you nor bred of hatred dread, but from the absence of faith. You are no longer Master to me, for I have taken another who blossoms within my Fëa more hope than Almaren could ever contain, even in His blackest despair. At the very least He fears not to act! He does not hide Himself behind city walls or marbled peaks, nor does He wait for Manwë to decree or Námo to pronounce ominous doom. He is more vivid, more tolerant than you or those other Lords, and more worthy—

 

I know well: I blaspheme! Your favorite Maiar, your Admirable. Admirable and obedient. Suffocating. You must have felt it, that wedge between you and I, driven ever deeper by the sore movement of Time. Think not that it was just one thing, or two, but a collection of many things which has driven me away.  

 

This one thing was not just that you have shunned my strange creations, the ones that were absent in the song of the One. It was that look which came upon your face after such creations- ever faint as it were present- that I was ill and somehow caught the plague of Discord. Not only have you corrected your manner to treat of me more as a servant when, in earlier days, we two had been much more alike father and son. It was that you have made it apparent that your deepest regret was in having not created me, that I am not your child. It was these many things.

 

Nay, Lord Melkor has not tainted my soul, for I am not ill. I have His music within me and without, and I tire of hiding it. Can you know well how much such hiding hurts? Can you know, truly, how it is to needlessly suffer by holding a part of you so close and so dear, to be indoctrinated to hate it, to shun it, to think of it as a blight on your very soul? No. You know not. You can not. So I bear no loathing of you, Aulë, only a bitterness.

 

Do you recall how similar your theme was to Lord Melkor’s in the very Beginning, or are you too ashamed to even admit that to yourself? I have thought many a time that such similarity is why I had gotten claimed by you as your Maia after the Great Music instead of Lord Melkor. But I will tell you how He tortured me and twisted me into joining His allegiance, cruelly forcing me to His iron will.

 

When He first became known to me- the Blackheart, as the Maiar so name Him- I rejected Him like I was bidden. My Fëa pounds now in self-loathing to have bade Him gone! Nevertheless, He returned each rest period when I was alone, and I thank His persistence. How you err in thinking that He forced His company upon me! I would ask Him to leave and He would go, but atimes He would just sit astride me and watch and not speak and I could not bear to send Him away. Have you, or any of the other myriad of Ainur ever actually laid eyes upon Him? Have you sat in His company and gave an ear to His music (His aura!), without hasty judgement? Sometimes I ponder to myself, questioning if I have even met the Melkor they speak of, the way that He is slandered!

 

Yea, He is arrogant atimes, and clamorous, and destructive, and vexing- but are not we all so in certain mood? He is not only one thing, or two- but a collection of many things- and He is not a blight upon creation. He has given Himself fully to Arda’s shaping, more than even you- His very soul seeps into Arda’s flesh! He has a certain passion, and He has shown me a kindness none ever has. He listens, fully and completely, to all that is to be said. He ponders, hurries not to condemnation, and He is honest- painfully so, but honest. Should I not give Him the same honor? O! How you would fume were I to tell you all! He does not look down upon me as a Maia, but spoke to me like a Vala would a Vala of equal rank. He: the Mightiest!

 

Was it evil of Him, to come to your Halls when only I was present, and seek of me the company of His Ainur-kin, those whose grace He was sundered from? He is alone in the wilds outside of Almaren, and He has desired nothing save for the same which He gives so freely- for others to listen, listen truly, and to reserve their doom for proper reflection. Was it evil of Him, to recognize His own song within me and to be drawn nearer to my flame? Was it evil of Him to ignore my rank and speak to me of forbidden things: for whom else was He to tell? I can no longer think of it as so.

 

Nay, He did not torture me, for I think that He never has even conceived such an an ill-wish upon my person. Nay, He has not twisted me, for I already was His long ago. And He did not force me to His will. It was my own decision to take leave. Unlike Manwë, He does not force conformity. I can be as I am.

 

I wish that I could say everything I still wished to speak of, Aulë. I wish that I could rid your blindness. I wish you could understand, for that lack of has brought me the most pain here: here in the gilded cage of Almaren. But I can't in one such simple letter: what is a letter to all the years I have tried in person!

 

To Lord Melkor I have given myself, and if you require any solace or final consolation, it is this:

 

I am finally at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Edit: Got rid of my not-so-great attempt at thee's and thy's. It was bothering me, and I think not appropriate for such extensive dialogue. D: But the content is pretty much the same and hopefully more relatable.  
> That out of the way, I decided to make a little collection of short-stories, taking inspiration from Morgause1's little collection, because it's a really good idea to get these random plots out of my head and in some digital ink. Plus, it should help me write more for this lovely community with all I got going on otherwise! <3  
> I was thinking about how Mairon would have left Almaren. I don't think he hated Aulë, but I do think there is a certain sadness there, a "bitterness." And I like to think that Mairon leaving is what triggered Aulë to make the Dwarves. . . maybe that'll be another chapter on its own!  
> It's also interesting to me how most of these things changed over the years. His bitterness sure turned to hatred (along with Melkor) as the ages wore on.  
> ***


	2. Loyalty Eternal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draugluin watches over his Master.  
> ***

His Master was at the desk, pouring over the numerous papers efficiently: troop reports, petitions, trade deals with the men in the East. Despite the quiet shifting of papers and the flourish of a pen on paper, and despite the task being so tedious and frequent, his Master’s ability to read papers in multiple languages on widely differing topics with such ease and coordination never ceased to be marvelous. He currently had four arms, each with either a paper or a pen in hand. While he signed off on one paper with a glance of that third, piercing eye on the center of his forehead, he used the other two to read and catch up on the other report.

 

Draugluin was sure that Angband wouldn’t function without this single spirit of glimmering gold managing the food supplies, weapons production, construction, and battle strategy. He sat up slightly, raising his head from his spot next to the throne where his Master’s Master was lounging. He let his head fall back down onto the ground between his two massive paws and whined contentedly when Melkor reached down to pet his thick coat. Yes, he was quite certain they would have all starved to death, but they wouldn’t be here in the first place had Melkor not taken them in.

 

He remembered the Beginning when he had sung his best for Oromë and Yavanna. He had howled and growled and barked and gnashed his teeth as best he could but he had sung the Discord. He already had two Masters, why not a third? He did not understand why the others shunned Melkor’s song so! In it he could run free in the snow which He had wrought from water, and he could hunt and howl in the darkness with his pack. But Oromë and Yavanna forbade these things, and when it was time for them to aid his spirit into a fashion of matter, he could not change into a form they so wished.

 

His whine turned into a growl at the thought of his previous two Masters, and Melkor laughed from His throne, rich and dark, and He patted the top of his head.

 

“Worry not, Draugluin,” Melkor spoke, “Thine time for vengeance wilt cometh before thou knowst.”

 

He relaxed under the words of his Master’s Master, for he believed them with all his soul. Oromë and Yavanna had been false. He had been prepared to reject this third Master’s Discord if it meant pleasing them- they had been his pack to which he was eternally loyal, save in betrayal. Betrayal there was! His spirit would not fashion to their song, but into the body of a werewolf- as large as a lion with fur of thickest slate-grey, which shot blue sparks when he bristled. His teeth were small daggers and his eyes the blue of polar ice which he had wandered around for ages, lost and cold and tired and hungry. He had no pack and as he had finally laid down to submit and let his spirit be recalled to Námo, he saw him.

 

His tail wagged, sweeping the stone behind him. Mairon was gold and warm against all the white and Draugluin heard at once a variation of the Discord about him- so very similar, but somehow more concise and ordered. He had fed him his power and convinced him to come back to Utumno, told him that he need not be ashamed of his form or his song- his loyalty had simply been misplaced. So he came again to Melkor, who did not shun him, but had accepted him completely as Mairon had said He would.

 

Mairon continued to sign off on papers or set them aside for revision. He knew he would someday see his old Masters again, but for now, Draugluin had the important task of protecting his new Master on the elven isle they were going to be moving to soon- though his Master didn’t know that Melkor ordered him to keep special watch over Mairon. So watch he did, ears intent on any strange noise and eyes fixed on that golden spirit which had saved him, basking in the Discord about the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draugluin was such a good, loyal puppy. You served them well :'(  
> Double chapter today! And what a sight Sauron doing paperwork would be, haha.  
> Draugluin, which means "blue wolf," is a slate grey but gets his name from the blue sparks on his hide that sometimes flare up. This was basically my love for the game Bloodborne showing through. The game has similar creatures called darkbeasts which have this feature. More specifically, however, I was thinking of the Abhorrent Beast- which is a funny name, considering his master is "Sauron the Abhorred." The Abhorrent Beast can also talk, which perhaps Draugluin can do. But that's enough!  
> ***


End file.
